


Needles or Pins

by LanternWisp



Series: Nests and Cages [1]
Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, DCU, DCU (Comics)
Genre: Gen, Implied/Referenced Underage Prostitution, jason/omc but not really, lazarus side effects, some vague Sandman references, there is nothing implied about it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-02
Updated: 2017-01-02
Packaged: 2018-09-13 23:09:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,185
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9146185
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LanternWisp/pseuds/LanternWisp
Summary: Sometimes Little Reds walk the path of needles, forbidden forests are urban jungles, the Woodsmen don't make it in time and disobedient children get eaten by wolves. It's when the story doesn't have the decency to end there that things get complicated.ORSome dark details of Jason's past finally come to light.





	

The thumping bass of the sound system rattled the concrete and lead infrastructure of the building like a pulse. Various scraps of litter crumpled underfoot as Jason weaved through the half-lucid crowd, making a note of every armed man perched at every exit. He'd never been a fan of this kind of scene, where everything seemed hellbent on making even the sober feel unsteady.

It was unsettling how little certain parts of the city changed, untouched by time. The abandoned building-turned-club had seemingly been transported straight from Jason’s childhood memories - he could almost swear that the drug addled couples or leering dealers had been there, unmoved for over a decade. Every now and then he'd even spy a definitely underage someone lurking at the fringes, watching the crowd or leaving a wispy trail of cigarette smoke. Street kids were an increasingly common sight in dingy bars or clubs as the weather turned, especially those the ones that were used as fronts. 

Personally Jason would have loved nothing more than to torch the whole place to the ground, preferably with the goons in charge still inside it, but he knew better. Kids would do what they had to in order to break even with or without places like this, and that was just one of the many things that even the most well-meaning officers of this city never grasped. They would put time and money into shutting the dens of iniquity down instead of looking at why they were needed, and then wonder to each other why so many children froze that year.

Whether it was as a smuggler or courier or member of the oldest profession, the jobs these places made kept people alive. A disgusting, tragic, but true fact of Gotham living. If you wanted to make a change, you had to dig the rot out at the source.

Jason tried to stamp down his sour mood as he navigated further from the dancers and the users, into the back halls where sober guards lingered behind a haze of cigarette smoke and the muffled boom of the club. He strolled past them with confidence, feeling eyes glance up and down his body before looking away in dismissal. Not a threat, not an intruder, just another part of the scene. He got that a lot as a kid, but this time he wasn't there as a sullen street rat in a rumpled hoodie or torn jeans. His pants were black leather, with the fresh tank top sitting low enough to reveal a smear of glitter across his collar. It made his skin itch.

He breathed deep to relax the tension in his spine and rapped twice on the door. When Jason had known him, Mike had been a nineteen-year-old enforcer for the local drug peddlers. Just over ten years later and he'd managed to claw his way to the top of one of Gotham's many little trash heaps, specifically this one.

Mike opened the door and gave Jason the classic once-over-and-lean, lounging against the doorframe with a cigarette between his fingers. He'd gained some muscle bulk and a few inches of height over the years, his blond hair darkening to a dirtier shade, but he was still pretty recognizable.

"Well look at you. You buying or selling?"

It took imagining firing a bullet between the idiot's eyes to keep his smile looking genuine.

"You probably don't remember me, but I was one of Donny's boys way back when Jenkins was in charge," Jason said, slipping into his Park Row accent like an old jacket.

Mike nodded vaguely, eyes narrowing with the effort of matching Jason's face to one of the undoubtedly many boys that had been sent to him over the years.

Jason resisted to urge to groan. "It was just after you got assigned to Crime Alley?"

Mike's eyes lit up.

_Kill him._

Not yet.

"Little Jamie! Fuck man, look at you." He clapped Jason on the shoulder and gave an appreciating squeeze. "Last I heard the cops finally carted you off."

"Yeah, they did. Shuttled me to a different area of Gotham, but you know how it is."

"Well you look good. Filled out and everything." Mike said, eyes moving over Jason's form. "Strapping boy like you could find himself a different career, easy. Always a need for muscle in these parts."

"I prefer to stick with what I know over getting my shit wrecked by the Batman, thanks."

"Well it must be working for you. Used to be that I could pick you up like nothing."

Jason knew he didn't have the figure anymore to pass for a low-tier prostitute. He was too muscular and well fed to pretend he still lingered on street corners to afford shoes.

"Found myself some half-decent providers over the years."

Mike hummed, buying it completely. "And you're looking for a new one, is that it?"

"Wouldn't say no if you offered, but I'm not looking for anything but to keep my lights on another day." Jason shrugged. "And I think I remember what you like."

"Then you'll remember that I _liked_ you when you were a li'l smaller," Mike said, amused. "But you got me feeling nostalgic, kid. Tell you what: there's a poker game tomorrow night and I could use a good luck charm. Afterwards you can show me some of the new tricks you've learned. I bet there's been a few."

"You've no idea."

He let Mike slip a scrap of paper into his back pocket, let him cop a feel while imagining what it'd be like to take the bastard's hands off with a machete.

The thought was fondly stowed away for later.

* * *

The next night Jason tried to turn off his feelings and make his preparations as clinical as possible. Just another costume, another disguise, another job. He rubbed some above average cologne into his skin and mussed his hair to check that the white streak was fully concealed. He braced his hands on the bathroom sink and glared at the man reflected back.

"Keep your grip, Todd."

It was a _good_ thing that this felt wrong. It proved... something. 

The address that'd been slipped into his pocket led to a 3-star cocktail lounge in Burnley. By the time Jason got there Mike was already waiting at the bar.

"Jamie!" He downed his drink and put an arm on the small of Jason's back. "Don't you clean up nice."

He supposed that was true. At the end of it all Jason resembled the class of male escorts that mob princes were so fond of - a bit outside of Mike's price range frankly, but ‘Jamie’ was a nobody returning from a different city district. It was believable for him to be slumming it with an old john, at least for now.

He let himself be steered to a private back room where a handful of men were drinking around a table. He recognized most of them instantly as associates from various drug trafficking divisions - no big players, but managers, lieutenants and middle men who did the legwork and reported straight to the bosses.

If Jason wasn't set on putting a bullet in Mike he would've considered trying to get invited back here. Criminals of this tier generally knew what happened at both the top and bottom of the food chain, keeping secrets from both ends whilst being quicker to shoot their mouths off with the right encouragement. Odds were good they also skimmed off the top behind their bosses' backs, which made for decent blackmail.

Then Jason faltered at one unfamiliar face. The hair was russet brown and the face was partially obscured by rugged facial hair that to his credit made him look older than his 26 years, but the bastard should have opted for shades. He could cover up his Wayne-heir and former model face, but there was only one person on the planet who had even glared at him like _that._

Dick fucking Grayson had infiltrated a poker game for kingpin lackeys, probably either buying his way in or posing as a visitor from a different branch. And he was staring.

For an insane moment (and not for the first time) Jason wanted to laugh, then cry, then kill everyone in the room. Because of fucking course.

"Who's the boy?" Asked some douche in a cowboy hat who'd probably never seen a stretch of flatland that wasn't used for parking cars.

"Jamie here was one of Donny's boys back in the day," Mike said, running a hand down Jason's side. "All grown up now, but you know what they say about Crime Alley kids."

Jason gave a tight smirk at the groping hand before allowing himself to be led to a chair. If there was one thing to be thankful for, it was that he was too bulky to be perched on anyone's lap anymore. He shared quick glances of solidarity with the other two escorts, both female, that decorated the table.

"I ain't never seen one of Donny's kids past sixteen," A man with thick, square glasses said. "Thought he sold them all by then."

"Got busted when I was ten," Jason said, putting every ounce of training and will he had into making his voice smooth and nonchalant. "Was sent to Midtown, been kicking around East End ever since."

"Well you must'a heard that Donny bit it 'bout eight months back," Another man, this one wearing several gold rings said. "Red Hood took his goddamn head off. Wasn't even doing nothin’ yet, the guy had just got outta prison."

"He survived that long in prison on child trafficking charges?" Dick asked, barely managing to sound appropriately uninvested.

"The Batman got him good, but Donny had enough dirt to pull some strings. Measly ten years with protection and let out in nine. Uplifting, ain't it?" Glasses gave a chortle. "'Til Hood took a blade to him, anyway. Shame. Donny always treated you boys right, didn't he?"

"Gave us condoms and made sure our faces stayed pretty." Jason shrugged. "And the money got me through a winter."

"Bet visiting Mike's place beat hustling in an alley."

"Most things do," Jason said, lighting a cigarette and taking a lazy drag. It burned but god help him, his eyes didn't water.

He was still stubbornly avoiding Dick's gaze, but god he could feel it. The idiot needed to stop trying to develop heat vision because if he blew his cover Jason sure as hell wasn't going down with him.

"And all these years later you're right back here," Mike said. "That's something none o' the cops or capes are ever going to understand. Gotham boys - _real_ Gotham boys like Jamie here, not them Diamond District rich kids - they've got these gutters for veins."

"If I'd known you were so poetic, I'd have rushed back here sooner," Jason said, trying and failing to keep the sarcasm out.

"Alright, alright. Are we here to play or watch Mikey flirt with his old whore?" Cowboy growled.

Cards were dealt and conversation turned to other topics while Jason pretended to be as uninterested or uncomprehending as the other escorts. Dick subtly steered talks to rumors about the synthesis of experimental new drugs that were apparently going to hit the streets within the next two months. If that shit was meant to be tested on the poverty-stricken areas before moving to the rich clubs, that was definitely Red Hood's business. Too many people wound up dead by drug trials like that.

Jason stubbornly ignored every furtive blue-eyed glance thrown his way and pushed any thoughts of wires or surveillance contact lenses out of his mind. None of that mattered now. He just had to grit his teeth and do the job. Whoever was watching could have their laugh, he was sure they did plenty of it at his expense anyway.

It was almost cute, watching Dick try to riddle things out from across the table as Drake likely tittered in his ear, suggesting how Jason could have hidden weapons in some microscopic crease of an outfit that couldn't hide a switchblade. They must've thought he was actually here for the stupid poker game and would be looking to make a swift and bloody exit once it was over.

As if some information he could've gotten ten times as fast just by shooting out a few kneecaps was worth wearing leather pants for an evening.

When the game mercifully ended (Dick totally throwing it so that Cowboy could walk away with the money and avoid a scene) Jason didn't waste time hooking his arm around Mike's. He wanted to get as far away as possible from that judgmental gaze, spill Mike's organs on the floor, wash the taste of tar out of his mouth, and call it a night. A simple man of simple needs.

"I take it you're not living out of the same place in the Bowery?" He said, pushing out of his chair and angling for the door.

Mike grinned. "No way babe, I'm just off the bridge now. It ain't far."

The moron was so eager to show off how he'd come up in the world that he'd take a stranger home instead of to a motel. Although of course they weren't _really_ strangers, were they?

Mike's hand certainly wasn't acting like they were strangers anyway.

"Good game boys, see you next week." Mike said, slinging his arm low around Jason's waist. "Jamie and I got a lot of catching up to do."

Jason practically dragged Mike outside.

It was raining pretty miserably when they hailed a cab, but that was typical of Gotham autumn. The ride carried them east with Mike rubbing idle patterns in Jason's leg all the way to a mid-rise apartment building on Scott Street. It wasn't a respectable area by any means - respectable areas in Gotham were few and on the opposite end of the city - but the brick was clean and all the windows were intact. The appropriate dwelling for the leader of a small but well-established drug outlet with steady gang ties.

Jason barely listened to Mike's babble about the neighborhood as they ascended in the elevator to his floor. Something about how great it was that denser vermin by the river kept the homeless away. Charming.

"Speaking of, where do you make camp nowadays? Back in the Alley?"

"I'm in the Coventry right now."

Mike wrinkled his nose in disdain. "That's a li'l close to Arkham, hun. Might want to look into moving before the next breakout of crazies happens."

"Tell me about it."

They made it to the apartment and Jason was tapping his fingers against his side as Mike fumbled his keys. Bumping into Grayson had not been in his plans, and he knew the bird brigade would already be dispatched to stop him from killing Mike in his apartment. They probably hadn't even stopped to think about how if he only wanted the bastard dead tonight he'd have taken him out a week ago. Apparently they thought Red Hood was just that kind of blood-crazed idiot.

Of course Mike was dying, make no mistake. Painfully, if that were still an option now that the guy was on the Bats' radar. But that was the Red Hood's message to send, not harmless hooker Jamie Peters'.

He'd kill the fucker _tomorrow_. With an explosion or something to make it up to himself.

"Well this is it," Mike said, waving Jason into the apartment as he toyed with the security system.

The damn alarms were linked to cartel’s system, and even if Jason was fairly confident he could have hacked it and broken in, he wasn’t quite sure he had the skill to do so without leaving a trace behind. Part of working alone and staying alive meant that the bad guys didn't need to know Red Hood was onto them until they were staring down the barrel of his gun.

"It's nice." Jason was already undoing another few buttons of his shirt, hoping Mike would get the hint that he wasn't interested in any grand tour. "You must entertain a lot."

The place was decent, with polished wood floors and sleek modern light fixtures. The outer wall was the same unpainted brick of the exterior and one could spy the black current of the Sprang flowing beyond the shorter buildings. It was a river that looked better from a distance anyway.

"Not as much as I'd like." Mike's arms were circling around Jason's waist.

Jason cleared his throat. "So. You still on the… ?"

Mike laughed. "You've got a pretty good memory. Top drawer at the bar."

The small bar was located just off the sitting room, and sure enough it held a few neatly arranged packets of unstamped white tablets. Jason grabbed a glass from the nearby rack and filled it with liquor before slipping an identical capsule from his pocket and into the drink. It gave a satisfying fizz and Jason quickly pressed it into Mike's hand.

A liking for mixing drugs, alcohol and sex had probably been what got Mike into the business in the first place.

For not the first time Jason wished he could just kill the bastard, but the flock was already on the case and he still needed this to be clean - especially if it wound up being as big as he thought it was.

Mike finished his drink and took Jason by the hand, pulling him to the bedroom.

"Lights on, right? All you Crime Alley kids prefer the lights on."

Because grappling with a stranger in the dark usually ended with someone getting stabbed, was why.

Jason kept careful track of the increasing sloppiness to Mike's movements as they toppled onto the bed.

"You sure you haven't been working as muscle?" Mike asked, squeezing Jason's arms. "No wonder I didn't recognize you. These are ridiculous."

"I'll take that as a compliment," Jason said, shifting back slightly so he could cast a searching glance around the room.

"Gonna have to fucking cut these pants off you."

"Easier said than done." Jason leaned away from Mike's mass. "Uh, Mike -"

He looked at Jason blearily, blinking slowly. "Oh! Ha. Shit, right you hate being on your back."

Being face-to-face with a john was too close, too personal, and sometimes led to people trying to kiss him or make him "feel good" and a heavy weight on top of him when he was underfed and small hadn't been fun.

"You grew up real pretty, y'know?" Mike said, actively slurring his words now. "Just. Wow."

"The poetry's starting to fall apart there Mike," Jason said wryly.

"Mean it. Boys like you, you're beautiful in that rough, tragic fucking way. And you were the best. Always kept that light in your eyes."

Jason opened his mouth to reply but any words he might have spoken were lost in the shriek of shattering glass. The furthest window from the bed was suddenly fracturing into an infinite number of gleaming shards as a large black-shrouded figure barreled through it, smooth and vicious as a nightmare. 

A heavy gauntleted hand grabbed Mike and flung him back like he was nothing, right out the window with such velocity that Jason didn't even notice him being attached to a line first. Then the cord went taut with a telltale _fwip_ , dangling the man from the ruined window.

Jason blinked, frozen where he lay half-reclined on the bed. Batman was staring him down, every muscle in his body radiating pure, barely leashed rage. For a long moment Jason could have sworn he was twelve years old again.

Then one of those armored hands were grasping him by the upper arm and jarring him back to reality.

"I had it handled! You shouldn't even - what the _hell_ are you _-_ "

"We're leaving," Batman said, voice deep and warning like thunder.

"I'm not going anywhere! I didn't fucking apply eyeliner this morning for my health, I'm here for something."

" _Really_."

"Don't be disgusting." Jason managed to escape Bruce's hold by ripping through the remaining buttons and slipping out of his shirt. "The drug was getting through his system, if you'd just waited another five goddamn minutes."

He darted further from Batman's reach and out of the bedroom entirely, across the hall to the room he'd identified as the office. He stubbornly ignored his hulking shadow in favor of rummaging through papers and maps that lay scattered around the heavy oak desk.

"What are you looking for?"

"Confirmation for something I think's been going on lately," Jason said, eyeing a list of shipping schedules. "Normally I'd knock some heads to do it, but the managers don’t even know. They're carrying it all out but they're too stupid to see it."

Jason internally groaned as numbers on the pages began lining up with ones he'd memorized. This was about to be a major pain in his ass.

No sooner had he finished taking snaps of the files with his phone than was Batman dragging him back to the broken window. A glance downward showed him that Mike was still dangling below, _finally_ out cold from the sedative.

"The police have been called. Batgirl will arrive shortly to oversee arrest and ensure nothing ties you to the scene."

Mike wouldn't survive prison, probably wouldn't even last a month once people knew he'd touched kids. Jason didn't ask if that made a difference, if things would have been different if Mike had the blackmail or connections to save himself. If knowing that it was Jason's time that had been bought all those years ago would have been enough.

Because of course it wasn't. Not with Donny, not with Mike, not with - 

 _The goddamn Joker could have touched you and it wouldn't change his mind._ The voice in the back of his mind that sung green and made him feel like he was drowning had grown weaker over the years, but in moments of weakness it got a word in.  _He'd do it for_   _any_ _of the others:_ _Dick_ , _Tim, Cass, Damian. But not for you._

Jason cleared his throat, nails digging into his palms. "Yeah, having a dead kid's prints show up would be pretty awkward."

Batman glared through his cowl before securing Jason to him in a way that left no room for argument. His grapple pulled them both through the night and heavy rain and down to the slick black street where the Batmobile was waiting.

"Thought you'd learn not to leave your car in shady parts of town," Jason said as he was all but shoved into the passenger seat.

The door slamming in his face was his reply.

Jason had forgotten just how seamless and brutal the quick acceleration of the Batmobile was, stirring distant memories of being lulled into drowsiness by a humming engine and the blinking of passing lights. They were weaving across the bridge when Batman took one glance at him, turned up the heat and placed a folded shock blanket on Jason's knee.

For a minute Jason considered ignoring the gesture out of spite, but the rain water was running in cold rivulets down his bare shoulders and drenching his pants, which were already uncomfortable to start with. He used the blanket to towel off, unapologetically staining it with black spray-on dye. There hadn't been any point in using the expensive stuff; nothing ever took to the white streak in his hair for more than a few days.

"You can drop me off at -"

"No."

Worth a shot.

"So is it the cave or Arkham or Blackgate?" Jason asked. "All of them one after the other could be interesting."

He could _hear_ the clench of gloves around the steering wheel, but Batman kept his livid gaze fixed on the road. Typical.

Jason snorted, kicking his boots off with a vengeance with his arms folded tight against his chest. Like it was six years ago and they were coming back from a bad patrol: Batman cold and impassive as Robin sulked in his seat.

It made his stomach turn.

* * *

As they rolled into the cave Jason debated digging his heels to stay in the car. The ghost of his dignity had already been exorcised from this plane, probably lounging in some distant reach of the Sunless Lands.

Bruce had no respect for this however. He threw Jason's door open and manhandled him onto his feet, steering him forward with a firm hand against the back of his neck.

"I'm going, alright? Lay off!"

The sound of distant arguing bounced off the high stone walls, audible even over the rushing of falling water that flowed from the Kane Sound and Gotham River and into the cave’s personal dam. There were some new sub-nautical toys floating on its placid surface, light dancing off the water and onto the stalactites above.

He was herded up the stairs and to the Batcomputer's platform, where the voices became more clear.

"I'm just trying to get an idea of what's happening here," Dick was saying, obviously struggling to retain his calm.

" _And I'm telling you that it's not for me to talk about._ " Even with the distortion Oracle sounded tired.

"For god’s sake Barbara -”

"I read everything there was on Jason after I became Robin," Tim said. "There was nothing on his record about being arrested for child prostitution."

"Always nice to meet a fan," Jason said blandly, trying not to get too much satisfaction from the way the birds flinched. "even the creepy ones, I guess."

Dick had ditched the disguise, looking like himself and downright furious as he turned on Bruce.

"Is it true?"

"You know you could just ask me," Jason said. "I am right here."

Dick's eyes flickered over Jason's form, taking in the state of him with a pinched expression.

"And you. What the hell were you trying to pull? You had no business being there -"

"Oh really." Jason drawled. "And where _do_ I have business being, Dick? A cell? In the ground, maybe?"

"Enough," Bruce said firmly. "Jason, go shower. Alfred will bring you a change of clothes."

"Why, so you can all talk about 'the Jason problem' where it can't hear? Thanks but no thanks, old man." Jason could feel his own blood boiling as he rounded back on Dick. "Yeah, it's true. I was never one of them high class whores, but no one ever asked for a refund so I figured I was good enough to pass for one here."

Dick recoiled as if Jason had pulled a gun on him. Tim's brow only furrowed slightly, his lips a thin line.

"I honestly thought you guys knew, actually. I figured police records got scrubbed to keep the press from finding out, but I didn't realize Bruce removed it from even the Batcomputer's files like some dirty fucking secret." Jason gave a flippant nod to the monitor. "Thought Oracle might have said something too, but I guess I didn't give her enough credit. My bad."

" _… I'm going to sign off now, B. I'll follow up with Batgirl._ "

"Please do," Bruce said tightly as the mask logo faded from the monitor.

For a moment there was silence.

Bruce lowered his cowl but somehow that was worse, revealing the cold fire of his eyes.

"What were you doing tonight?"

"None of your busi-"

" _Jason._ "

He was pretty sure all three of them cringed at that, reflexively leaning away from a tone they had heard snap _Robin_ too many times back when they were small and soft and this man's voice was god.

Jason grit his teeth and gave a tight shrug. "There's been a lot of displacement happening in the poorer areas lately. No one's noticed because it's nothing new to get muscled out of your place, but once I saw the signs it led to a bigger pattern."

"Signs?" Dick asked.

"Y'know, the usual stuff. Cars and uHauls being broken into but nothing noticeably taken. More kids walking around at night."

Blank looks.

"Right, I'm surrounded by rich boys and non-locals." Jason sighed. "Look, once the weather turns Gotham gets fucking _cold,_ okay? So you see people stealing sunscreens off windshields and taking those big quilts movers use to transport furniture because they retain heat like crazy. But it's still too soon, so I could only guess that it's because people were getting kicked out of wherever they were squatting. There are more kids wandering around at night because they lost whatever safe place they were holing up, and know resting in the day reduces the odds of getting snatched in their sleep."

"There are reputable shelters in those areas," Tim said slowly.

Jason scoffed.

"Sure. But kids aren't going to risk staff calling the cops. And even if the place is trustworthy, you get all sorts scoping out shelters for vulnerable minors. Some traffickers even make their current kids go out and lure new ones, you can't trust nobody." Jason rubbed at a black dye stain he'd just noticed on his right hand. "I mean I got a shit deal, but it beat getting carted off and never fucking seen again. Screw the Court of Owls, those traders were the real fucking bogeymen in the Alley."

His pimps had made their threats to sell him whenever Jason tried to quit or didn't bring in enough money, but as a rule it was more profitable to keep kids until they were older.

"But that's not the point." Jason continued with a dismissive wave of his hand. "The point is that I started honing in on exactly where these people were being turned out from and it brought me to abandoned buildings all over the place that were getting claimed by different drug cartels. And I thought that was a little damn suspect, so I dug deeper and found that a lot of their movements are actually in coordination with each other. Except none of the different factions seem to _realize_ their shipments and schedules are working around one another like clockwork, they're just doing what they're told."

"Someone big is pulling all their strings," Tim said.

"Give the kid a prize," Jason said. "Now my old friend Mike was just a bit of good fortune on my part, because he might be a bit small time but his gang's old and amiable with a lot of bigger fish in Robbinsville. Plus they work in the Bowery, which is prime scumbag real estate. So I got into his papers and lo and behold, his shipments line up remarkably well with sightings of Black Mask's men."

Tim and Dick exchanged troubled glances.

"Black Mask would have the means to commission the new synthesis equipment we've been hearing about," Tim said.

"And now we have a list of locations that he's singled out for his manufacturing labs." Dick nodded. "That's got to be what he's using those abandoned buildings for."

"Yes, well you're welcome." Jason cast a steely glare at Bruce. "Of course, given that Blackie's been hellbent on the clandestine operations to the point of puppeteering half the drug rings in the city, it really would've been a _hell_ of a lot more preferable if the goddamn Batman hadn't bashed through Mike's window! Even if you got Oracle to disable the security first, that isn’t exactly subtle."

Bruce raised his chin, unrepentant.

"You shouldn't have been working this case alone."

"Oh get over yourself."

"Putting yourself in that position was incredibly irresponsible. You know how volatile you get when presented with certain _reminders_ -"

"Of course, I forgot that's how we deal with shit here. Just sweep it under the rug and do nothing; let the Batman come and save us!" Jason was shouting, the bats above screeching with unrest. "As if that _ever_ \- !"

"Master Jason."

His voice died in his throat.

Alfred was another strange anomaly, seemingly untouched by the years. The same proper, grandfatherly presence Jason remembered, with his nigh omnipotent timing.

"It is positively frigid down here and you are hardly dressed appropriately,” He said, voice clipped as he primly draped a towel around Jason’s shoulders. “Go shower at once. I will prepare some dry clothes for you."

It was a dismissal and unlike Bruce's, Jason didn't dare protest.

"… Fine."

He padded on damp socked feet to the showers, listening to conversation pick up once he was just far enough out of range for the cave to distort their words again.

 

* * *

Jason spent longer than necessary in the showers with the dual intention of avoiding the others and making them wait to use the lockers because he knew they were avoiding _him_. He rested his forehead against the slick tile, feeling the endless supply of hot water on his back.

He should've kept his mouth shut, should've known that there wasn't any such thing as fighting shit out in this house. Words were just beneath Bruce fucking Wayne.

_He deserved to hear it. He failed me._

Maybe. But Jason had never resented Bruce for being too late to save him, not even when he opened his eyes to a pale outstretched hand and realized that time had really run out. People died: good people, smart people, kids. He'd seen it. He never lamented the unfairness because he never expected anything different. The world was unfair.

Bruce had missed the point, agonizing over being unable to make it in time (why else had the guy ordered a goddamn autopsy if not to know by how many minutes he'd been late?) when it'd never been about that. It wasn't that he'd died, it was about what happened _after_. Bruce had let him think that there could be justice, that Jason could  _matter_ , and then…

Well. The point is that the words had slipped out because he'd just wanted to hurt him, and now it'd take a miracle for Bruce to stop his heroic sulking and see the big picture.

"Great going, Todd." He mumbled, turning off the water. "Way to look like you're a moody kid fishing for pity."

That was the worst. The intensely serious look on the Drake's face had been _vastly_ preferable to Dick's righteousness. Jason didn't need defending or protecting or careful handling. What happened to him was nothing special, he was just a stupid kid who'd gotten screwed over when he tried to bargain with his mom's dealers over her debt. It was the sort of thing that happened in the Alley.

The last thing he wanted was to give the world another reason to go off about how stupid Bruce had been to take him in, about what a massive mistake it'd been to make him Robin. Jason Todd, the Batman's biggest mistake. Should have put _that_ on his goddamn grave, it was the way they'd been keeping his memory.

Jason dried himself and started picking through the fresh clothes. He had no idea where they came from - the only person in the house whose clothes would fit him was Bruce, but he'd never seen the guy wear anything but black or varying shades of grey. Alfred was some kind of saint, but Jason's disbelief didn't suspend quite so far to think there was a hidden stash of clothes for just in case the prodigal son ever came around.

He wasn't sure if the hooded pullover was meant to be some kind of jab, but it was warm so Jason put it on anyway. There were thick socks and shoes as well, which would make stealing a bike easier. Barring that he was giving up on dramatics and calling a cab.

Dick and Tim were gone when he returned to the Batcomputer, leaving only Bruce in the tall chair.

"Sent the birds away already? Probably for the best you keep us apart, what with how 'volatile' I can be."

Bruce didn't even twitch.

"You're not working this case."

"I don't take orders from you," Jason said crossly. "If there's something happening in my neighborhoods, I'm gonna do something about it. From where I'm standing you're the one butting in."

"You can't be trusted to handle this without crossing the line."

"I don't kill every drug dealer I see, Bruce. So long as they haven't used their product on kids I can play nice. Relatively speaking."

The look Bruce gave him was deeply unamused.

"Your insight has been valuable,"

"I assume you're referring to how I did 90% of the work while Grayson lost at poker and you broke a window."

"And I'm willing to have you on-board,"

"If by that you mean you know you can't stop me and are pretending to be generous as you take _my_ case away from me -"

"But you have to follow the rules," Bruce said, his gaze piercing and stern. "And we both know full well that I could stop you, Jason. I should. And I will if you test me."

The silence stretched between them, broken only by the rushing of water and the high chittering of bats.

"Well I'm excited already," Jason said dully, sliding his hands into the hoodie’s front pocket. "When do we start?"

**Author's Note:**

> why did i decide this was how i wanted to introduce myself to the fandom


End file.
